Skin
by Craft Rose
Summary: After a particularly messy breakup, Hermione throws caution to the wind and volunteers to do a bit of nude modelling for a Muggle art class. As you do. It's all fine and dandy, until she learns her sworn enemy is one of the students.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: This is set a few years after the war. Some minor changes to canon, but nothing that requires mention or AU. If you have any questions, let me know!**_

* * *

 _(Let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room!)  
I want to be every button you press  
And all the baths that surround you_  
 _Yes I'm gonna roll around you  
Like a cat rolls around saw dusted patios_  
 _I'm gonna kiss you  
Like the sun browns you_

 _"Every Other Freckle" by alt-J_

* * *

Skin

Hermione idled near the front door, carefully disentangling the knot in her chest. It was roughly eight o'clock in the morning, and around that time, she was usually on her way to the Ministry, where a hideously large pile of work was delivered to her cubicle at the stroke of nine . . . _but_ after an intensely messy breakup and an incident involving four shots of fire whiskey too many at the Ministry Christmas Party, she was left with a large, gaping hole in the middle of the work week.

 _Take a day_ , Harry lightly advised in a kind, but authoritative fashion. _Er . . . Maybe three_. Given that he was now Head of the Auror Office, his 'advice' wasn't so much a friendly suggestion as it was damage control.

Hermione couldn't blame him.

She cringed inwardly, bombarded with vivid flashbacks of the Christmas Party . . . a ton of shots and maybe three flashes of her underthings, followed by a teary-eyed rendition of 'I don't need a man' by _The Pussycat Dolls_ later, both Harry and his wife Ginny were forced to drag Hermione out of the room and onto the Knight Bus. She couldn't remember most of what led to it, but she did, at one point, throw herself at Stan Shunpike and beg him to invade her Chamber of Secrets. _Shudder._ Thankfully, he was more of a gentleman than she realized. Instead of seeing what the Chosen One's bookish friend had to offer, Stan escorted her off the bus and onto the front step of her building, where she somehow managed to crawl three stories, before passing out in the middle of the stairwell.

The next morning, one of Hermione's neighbours (an elderly Lithuanian woman by the name of Ludwika) mistakenly awoke the witch by treading overtop of her carrying a full bag of laundry. It was safe to assume she was generously rewarded with a gnawing, twisting hangover, as well as a gentle reminder that she made a complete and utter arse out of herself the previous night. Harry was kind about it, _considering_ . . . but she didn't expect anything less from him. She could have detonated a bomb in the middle of the Atrium, and he still would have given her the benefit of the doubt. _Maybe the Atrium_ needed _a bomb, you know? It_ was _getting a bit boring around here._

Jokes aside, Hermione couldn't recall the last time she had more than a few hours of freedom; let alone an entire three days.

By her mother's suggestion, she decided to dive into a few of her childhood hobbies, including a ballet class at the local dance studio (to which she had arrived late, without her pointe shoes, and with a leotard that was two sizes too small) and a visit to the Art Gallery. As a witch, she tried hard not to forget her roots, but it was sometimes difficult, and although two of the three days had gone by without a major hitch in the road, she had a feeling there was about to be a big one.

For some inane reason, she took it upon herself to sign up for an art class; not as a student, but as a model. A couple days back, on her way home from the Art Gallery, she noticed a volunteer sheet in the lobby of the building. It was a little unorthodox to sign up out of the blue, when she had zero modeling experience, but she needed an intense 'fuck the world' moment, and at the time, she felt there was nothing in the universe that screamed 'fuck the world' louder, than shedding her inhibitions and modeling nude for a bunch of strangers.

Granted, it wasn't _complete_ nudity . . . but it was enough to incite a visit to the salon. She was overdue for a wax anyway.

With those thoughts firmly in mind, Hermione clasped a hand around the door handle and took a moment to breathe, before walking in. The interior of the building was in stark contrast to the red brick, filled with neutral-tone minimalist furniture, white light and high ceilings. There was a young man at reception, who greeted Hermione with a firm smile. As expected, he was dressed in smart clothes, consisting of black trousers and a black button-up, with his bright auburn hair styled in a clean, sophisticated pompadour. And on top of the front desk, was a frosted glass nameplate marked in slate grey lettering.

 _Thomas Laurie_

"May I be of any assistance to you?" asked Thomas in a tone that was slightly less than _snobbish_ but slightly more than not.

Hermione stared at him a moment, blank in the face. "Er . . ." _In order to fuck the world, you will first have to make it to the classroom without shitting your knickers._ "I'm just on my way to the . . . to the eight o'clock art class."

Thomas arched an eyebrow. "Which one?"

 _Of course, Granger. There's more than one art class._ Hermione cleared her throat, only slightly frazzled. "Erm . . . I believe the instructor's name is Agatha."

"There's no one here by that name."

 _Naturally._ "Are you sure?" Hermione thought to ask, mostly because her flat was _aaaages_ away and she had already walked a fair distance. Because she lived in a Muggle neighbourhood, the option to Apparate was unavailable.

Thomas eyed her for a moment, slightly perturbed. "I'll check for you," he said, tightly.

Hermione waited, clutching the handbag to her chest. Given that she was there to model nude, she opted to wear a simple sage green wrap dress, a pair of black ballet flats with little bows on them, and a beige trenchcoat overtop. Easy to take off. As per usual, her hair was down in a mess of chocolate brown curls. She thought to style it in some way, but she figured it was best to stay on the natural side . . . right?

Suddenly, the salon seemed like a bad idea. _Was I not supposed to prepare?_ Hermione thought, lip twitching. _Bloody hell. I'm posing nude for an art class, not grooming for a sodding date!_ She swallowed a bit, shoving the sudden onslaught of tension down her throat. There was no point in having a panic in the middle of the lobby.

"Well, it appears there _is_ a morning class taught by an Agatha Holbrook," Thomas mentioned, unbeknownst to Hermione's inner turmoil. He glanced up from the monitor and offered a slim, forced smile. "Down the first floor corridor, to your left. You'll find a sign on the door."

Hermione nodded thanks and escaped the lobby in a bit of a hobble.

The corridor was long and narrow, and on the end, she found a frosted glass door marked with the name 'Holbrook' in that same slate grey lettering. There were silhouettes on the other side of the door, undoubtedly moving about and adjusting their easels. She couldn't see through the frosted door — not clearly anyway — but it seemed the class was on the fuller side.

Her stomach clenched a little bit. _You could always turn back and fuck the world in a different way. In the privacy of your bedroom, for example._ She frowned. _But that's the problem, isn't it? I've spent too long hiding and playing up this whole 'prudish bookish prude' thing. If I don't feed into my subconscious need to explore and find myself, I'll end up getting railed on the Knight Bus by Stan Shunpike . . . most likely without protection._

Cringing at the thought, Hermione scraped up what little confidence she could, and curved her hand around the door handle, slowly twisting it open.

"Oh, Miss Granger!" Agatha exclaimed, thrilled to see the model hadn't bailed. "Welcome," she said, ushering Hermione into a private corner of the room. "How are you?"

"I'm well," Hermione smiled, distantly aware of the shuffling and faint chatter. "Sorry if I'm a bit late. I . . . there was a bit of trouble in the lobby."

Agatha nodded, knowingly. "Yes, well. Thomas is a bit of a knob."

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, holding the urge to laugh. Because Agatha looked so much like her nan (and a bit like Molly Weasley) it surprised her to hear the last word come out of the elderly woman's mouth.

"So, before we begin . . . have you any questions or concerns?" Agatha asked, kindly.

"Er . . ." Hermione tore a look around the room. There were roughly twelve students, all hidden behind their easels, and a victorian-style chaise lounge in middle. As discussed the previous day, via Skype call, she was to pose along the chair and hold it for the allotted time. There would be a few breaks here and there, during which she could use the loo or have a snack, but she would, for the most part, have to remain completely and utterly still. "None at the moment, thanks."

"Good, good. We'll begin when you're ready," she said, kindly. "Take your time."

Hermione smiled at the woman and turned around, behind the divider, as Agatha moved to the front of the class. It took a moment for the shuffling and chatter to stop, and when it did, the nerves in Hermione's stomach began twitching and somersaulting all over the place. She forced the tension away and slowly removed her trenchcoat, draping it along the divider. Her handbag and flats followed. She placed them neatly on the floor, which looked relatively clean, and then willed her fingertips to tug at the sash that held her wrap dress in place. One light yank and the fabric loosened around her, causing a swift chill to crawl the length of her body. _Wait! I should keep the dress on and remove it in front of the class. That's what people do in films . . . right?_ A touch of uncertainty coloured her cheeks, before she remembered she forgot to bring a robe of some sort. It was no matter, seeing as her dress functioned as a robe, as well. _What about my knickers? Do I remove those here, or in front of them?_ There was a moment of debate, before she settled on the former option, and quickly parted ways with her underthings.

 _And I've now gone commando for the first time in my life,_ Hermione thought, slightly amused by it and slightly discomfited, at the same time. _It's awfully unhygienic. Whatever. Shut up, brain._

She quickly slid her wrap dress back on and took a moment to breathe, in and out as slowly and deeply as humanly possible, before ducking out from behind the divider.

"Are you ready, my dear?" asked the instructor.

Hermione wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway.

Given the scratchy sound of sharpening pencils, she presumed the students were to do a simple drawings for the day. _Good. Pencil drawings shouldn't take long._ Uncertain and a little on the uneasy side, Hermione fixed her eyes downward and tugged at the sash, slowly slipping out of her dress.

* * *

The cheap material feathered down to the floor, sending a hard jolt down the length of Draco's spine. _How in the hell . . . ?_ On cue, he glanced down, thinking of the war, and the many things that paved way for such an insane, nonsensical circumstance. It wasn't that Granger was naked — because naked women didn't frighten him in the slightest — nor that she seemed to have an intriguing little tattoo under the curve of her left breast; what unsettled him most, was the fact that they were trapped in a room together for the next three hours.

Draco ignored the gnawing ache in his stomach. _If I can sit through all one hundred and eighty minutes without drawing attention to myself, there is no possible way she'll know I'm here. It'll pass quickly. I'll go home after — or perhaps the pub — and forget this ever happened._

For months, he attended Agatha Holbrook's art class.

It wasn't a ploy to trick the wizarding world into thinking he was a changed person, because he, for the most part, didn't tell anyone about his art. It was, however, an escape. As early as seven years old, he showed aptitude for the arts, and although his father was never fond of his hobby, his mother was very supportive. She provided him easels and oil paints and expensive brushes, and countless other things that a child so young didn't need quite yet. Admittedly, her support was sometimes a little suffocating, but he appreciated her efforts nonetheless. It was when his eleventh birthday came around, and the Hogwarts acceptance letter was delivered to him, that Lucius strangled the creativity out of his son and forbade him to partake in his 'childish hobbies' henceforth.

Because Draco had always been eager to please his father and live up to the Malfoy name, he quickly tossed his canvases and brushes into the bin and never once looked back.

That was, until, the Second Wizarding War came to an end. He and his family had been on trial in front of the entire Wizengamot. Because they ended up aiding Potter in the final battle, their crimes were pardoned, which meant no Azkaban. Lucius softened a little after that. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to incite an apology. _I have been a terrible father to you, Draco. I have led you astray your entire life. Because of me, your childhood is ruined . . . and there is nothing I can do, no price I can pay to return those lost years . . . but I will try. I seek only your forgiveness,_ the older wizard asked of him, sincerely.

Only a month afterwards, Lucius' dead body was found in the back garden of Malfoy Manor. It seemed a few of his former associates came out of hiding, just long enough to kill the man that listed their names to the Wizengamot.

Since then, Draco broke away from the wizarding world, inch by painful inch, and spattered his emotions onto a canvas, instead of the battlefield. On occasion, he visited the Manor, to see his mother and make sure she hadn't yet gone mental. Andromeda Tonks, her older sister, was the biggest help in that department. The sisters had a falling out as young adults, because the elder married a Muggle man and was henceforth banished from the Black Family Tree . . . but the war and its many casualties reunited them.

Draco never knew his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, but if her son was any indication as to the fun and light she brought into every room, she must have been as vibrant as her mother described. More, he imagined.

A touch of uncertainty coloured Draco's cheeks as Granger evoked a similar light in the flecks of her warm, brown eyes. The girl draped her naked body on the chaise lounge, and mimicked the angle and placement of Titian's muse in the famed oil painting _Venus of Urbino._ It required her to look unconcerned with the nudity.

But of course, there were signs of concern all over her body.

The twitch of her bottom lip whenever she mistakenly made eye contact with anyone; the blush that drowned her cheeks and the length of her neck; the stiffness of her dusky nipples; and the soft quiver of her left hand, as she lay it to rest below her abdomen. The pose left her brilliantly exposed, vulnerable to the scrutiny of twelve strangers, and an old classmate whom she hadn't yet seen. If the cards played to his favour, she would never know.

Holbrook was bound to make rounds and compliment his work. _Well done, Mr. Malfoy! Brilliant as usual, Mr. Malfoy! Oh, what a wonderful piece, Mr. Malfoy!_

Draco wasn't sure, but he gathered the surname 'Malfoy' wasn't particularly common amongst Muggles. An earshot of that, and those freckled ears would most definitely perk up. _I could say I have somewhere to be and leave . . ._ he thought, looking to the door. _No, that would draw even more attention._ It seemed there just one option. If he wished to remain hidden, he would have to blend as far back into the background as he could.

Luckily, Granger wasn't facing him. She was focused on the middle students, whereas he sat more to the left. It played to his favour, of course, but the angle was a tricky thing to work around. _I'll draw an average portrait. Holbrook will walk past without saying a word, and that'll be that._ A wizard of his stature and upbringing wasn't accustomed to 'average' but there was currently no choice in the matter.

That in mind, Draco studied the shape and curvature of Granger's body and quietly put pencil to the stark white of his paper.

She was nicely proportioned, he came to realize.

Instead of the modest curves he anticipated, her breasts and hips were shapely for a girl of her size and height. Covered in freckles from head to toe. There was an abundance of them around the bridge of her nose, her shoulders and between her breasts. They were difficult to draw, but he managed, focusing extra hard on her clavicle and the birthmark on her left hip. It was small and crescent-shaped, and distracting in a way that lapped his chest cavity in warm waves.

Although natural in a very real, very human way . . . she wasn't 'unattractive' by any means.

The young wizard came to terms with that, breaking his concentration for a second, only to find that he dropped his pencil. It slipped out from between his fingertips and clattered to the floor. Like that, every eye in the room was focused on him. Draco blinked, forcing himself to bend and collect the fallen item. _It's fine. It's OK. It's not a. . ._ He straightened, fixing one look ahead to find those warm brown eyes planted firmly on him. For a moment, she didn't react at all. And then the pieces fell into place.

Draco knew that look as though it were etched into his very skin.

 _Well. That's that._

Wordless and mortified, the brunette wrapped both arms around her nakedness, shielding her nudity from him, as though he hadn't already memorized every inch of her body — however subconsciously — for the past thirty minutes.

And when she raced out of the room, dress only half on and belongings dangling from each hand, the blonde wizard rose from his stool. For whatever reason, he followed the witch out of the room and caught sight of her seconds before she vanished from the emptiness of the corridor.

Draco slowed his pace, breathing heavily.

 _What the bloody hell was she doing here in the first place?_

Suddenly, he had to know.

* * *

 **Second chapter is posted! Thanks for reading this one.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:** Second chapter! There was such a positive response to the first one, that I had to keep going. I'm aiming for five chapters max. _

_**Beta:** katchin05 - Massive thanks for helping me out! You're a champ. _

* * *

_Don't you feel that hunger_  
 _I've got, so many secrets to show_  
 _When I saw you on that stage  
I shiver with the look you gave_

 _"Shine" by Years & Years_

* * *

Skin

Hermione waited in the lift, knuckles white. She clutched her handbag for dear life, reeling from the previous day's events. Truthfully, she had yet to sit down and unravel that mess. One second, she was draped across the chaise lounge, in the nude. The next second, she found a pair of dauntingly familiar grey eyes glued to her naked form. Granted, the eyes in question remained above shoulder level, and most certainly did not regard her with the same lascivious stare as a few of the others, but there was _something_ in them . . . and it looked an awful lot like temptation.

 _Well, I suppose this is it. I've officially gone mental,_ she deduced, causing the lift attendant to look at her, bewildered, as she nodded in agreement with the tiny voice in her head.

Given what happened at the Christmas Party, she was used to those curious, wide-eyed looks. If anything, she found it odd when people regarded her like a human being, as opposed to a zoo creature in captivity. She smiled at the lift attendant on her way out, and bowed her head in thanks, before vanishing into the corridor. Her three days of work leave were officially over, and she was more than happy to return to the Auror Office.

Harry and a few others nodded hello to her, as she passed through.

There was a large stack of files on her desk and she couldn't wait to attack it; hours of tedious, time consuming paperwork to distract from the obvious. _Malfoy knows what I look like naked. I was naked in front of Malfoy. If ever I died of a gruesome animal attack, the authorities could ask him to identify my mangled corpse._ She cringed hard, in desperate need of a drink. _The evil ferret is probably brainstorming ways to blackmail me at this very moment._ For easily discernible reasons, she refrained from sharing what happened with her friends. They were already on edge around her, walking on eggshells as though she were some broken, blubbering mess. Of course, she was upset over the breakup, but she wasn't _that_ far gone, surely. In any case, she couldn't exactly vent her frustrations, as she wasn't quite sure what to say, how to say it, or whether she hallucinated the ordeal.

The mere notion that Malfoy fancied himself an artist was, of course, hilarious on every level, but the muggle factor made it downright unfathomable.

 _Is it though? He's been off the map for quite a long time. Maybe, after everything his family went through, he's found some sort of inner peace in the simplicity of a muggle existence . . ._

Hermione thought about it, waiting seconds before snorting with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Theodore asked, leaning against the partition of her office cubicle, with his hands in his pockets.

She turned around, relieved to see him. "Oh, nothing. Just . . . reflecting on the week's events."

He smiled. "I take it you had a relaxing few days?"

Her eyes wandered a moment. "You could say that," she offered, tucking a lock of hair away, as she turned around to sift through the files.

Theodore watched, the smile on his lips transitioning to something else. "I was thinking . . . " he said, ignoring a few of the newbie witches, who leered at him in a shameless, borderline obscene manner. On a good day, Hermione supposed, the wizard looked quite like a young and slightly less polished Gregory Peck. Handsome, in a classic way. "We should grab drinks later."

She paused.

"As friends," he quickly added. " . . . and, er, if I don't make a complete arse out of myself, maybe I could take you out to dinner next weekend?"

Hermione turned around, facing away from him a moment, as though she caught something of particular interest in one of the files. "I, er . . . the . . . " _Why is Theodore Nott asking me out? He knows I'm recovering from a massive breakup. I'm definitely not ready to see anyone new. The incident at the Ministry Christmas Party is proof of that._ "I don't know if that's a good idea," she eventually said, lightly.

Slightly crestfallen, he nodded. "Right. No . . . no problem. I suppose it was rather insensitive of me to ask, considering . . ."

"My ex is one of your good friends?" she finished, looking to him. "Just a tad."

Theodore rubbed the back of his head, smiling. "Well. It's settled, then. I'm a massive twat, and I haven't the faintest idea how to read people."

"Read people?" the brunette repeated, inquisitively, before a string of vivid flashbacks skidded through her brain. She clapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, my f . . . " It came to her all at once, the memory of cornering Theodore Nott outside of the men's loo at the Christmas Party, and throwing herself at him in a twist of hands and lips and a strategically placed leg. She squeezed her eyes closed, inwardly cringing. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I . . . I completely forgot that we . . . that _I_ . . . "

"It's OK," he cut in, genuinely. "It was a strange night for both of us."

"Yes, but I . . . " Hermione swallowed, running a hand through her hair. "I _assaulted_ you."

Theodore tried his hardest not to laugh. "You didn't assault me," he gently clarified. "Trust me when I say, I was more than willing."

She glanced sideways.

"And I've now managed to sound like a complete pervert. Fantastic. I'll just . . . " He motioned out of the cubicle. "I'll see myself out. Have a good day, Granger. It's nice to have you back."

Hermione exhaled through her teeth, eyes closed. "Wait," she said, moments before he turned around. She faced him, sympathetic to his awkward nature. "I'd like to have drinks with you. I . . . I just think it's best that we keep it strictly platonic. For the time being, anyway."

His eyes widened a moment. "Really? That . . . that's _great_. I'll . . . meet you here at the end of the day?"

She nodded, forcing on a smile. "Sure, yeah."

"Brilliant." Theodore smiled back, practically skipping to his cubicle.

Hermione waited there, lingering in the aftermath, before refocusing on her work. She slumped down into her desk chair and sighed. Perhaps a night at the pub would do her well. It had been ages since she spent time with anyone apart from Harry, Ginny, and her parents. Theodore Nott was a strange place to start, and she had to admit his approach was a little presumptuous, but he meant well. And he was quite nice to look at.

She bit lightly on the feathery end of her Quill, in thought.

 _ **Evening**_

By the time they left the Ministry, it was dark out and the cobblestone streets were covered in a thin layer of snow. Hermione shivered, hands in her coat pockets, as she and Theodore made their way to The Leaky Cauldron. Granted, it wasn't the nicest pub in the world, and it certainly wasn't the nicest pub in London, but it was warm and familiar, and that's all that mattered.

"Two pints of Guinness," Theodore ordered, looking to Tom the barkeep. "Cheers, mate."

Hermione slipped out of her trenchcoat and settled into one of the bar stools, next to him. That evening, the pub was comfortably teeming. "Interesting crowd," she remarked, looking around. The patrons were a lot younger than she remembered. That, or she had simply gotten older. In any case, the jittery feeling in her gut began to subside. "Anyway." She faced Theodore, smiling. "How was your day?"

"It was nice," he began, nodding thanks to Tom the barkeep as he slid a couple pints to them. "Starting tomorrow, I'm to lead the excavation on the old Lestrange Estate. I still think I'm a bit underqualified for it, but . . . as long as Potter is confident, I suppose it's not a big deal."

The witch swallowed her drink, quickly remembering she hated Guinness. "Right. I'm sure you'll do a fine job."

"Let's hope," he smiled, looking to her. "So how was your day? I heard you've been assigned to the Rosier investigation."

She nodded, trying not to choke on the beer. "Mhm. Harry's working on it, too."

"That's good. It must be nice working with your mates and stuff. I can't remember the last time I saw one of mine, outside of the annual Sacred Twenty Eight gathering in . . . "

Hermione's eyes wandered to the front entrance of the pub, as Theodore started talking about Merlin knows what. A chilly breeze enveloped her body, causing the hair on her arms to stand straight, and her throat to clench, as she spotted a head of pale blonde idling near the door. She froze, immediately looking away. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God."

" . . . which isn't particularly horrible, seeing as most of us have either . . . " Theodore broke off. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. "Do you need water?"

She used one hand to block her face from the door. "I'm fine. I'm fine," the brunette mumbled, grabbing hold of the Guinness and knocking it back.

Theodore's eyes widened. "You sure?"

"Completely." Hermione swallowed, gulping all of it down and dribbling down her front, before wiping her lips on the sleeve of her characteristically boring cardigan. _Why do I dress like a nan? What's wrong with me?_ She took a deep breath, attempting to settle the nerves in her gut, and not draw attention to the fact that she was hyperventilating.

"You don't look all right . . . " Theodore commented, lip twitching. "I'll get you some water. Just a moment." He motioned for Tom to come closer. "A glass of water, please." His eyes darted to her, quickly. "Maybe a napkin, too."

Hermione glanced down, taking note of the beer stain down her cardigan. "Damn it." She stood up, feeling the wetness seep through her clothes. "I'll . . . I'll be right back," the witch blurted, too embarrassed to look her co-worker in the eyes.

Thankfully, he didn't chase after her.

She raced into the ladies room, quickly drying her clothes with magic, before staring deadpan into the mirror. Apart from the state of her clothes, hair, and smudged brown eyeliner, she looked . . . normal.

 _Who am I kidding? I look a mess._

Hermione inhaled deeply, putting Luna's breathing exercises to use. _Everything is OK. I'll just . . . kindly bow out of the pub and fabricate some sort of excuse, as to why I have to leave. Theodore will be none the wiser, and everything will go back to normal._

A few moments of that, and her nerves settled.

She took another moment simply to exhale, releasing the tension in her body, before nodding at her reflection in solidarity and exiting the bathroom. For some reason, the pub seemed a lot more crowded than before. That, or she was just hyper aware of all the chatter and clinking pint glasses.

Hermione ignored the lingering tension and found Theodore by the bar. A hard jolt attacked her spine, as she noticed he wasn't alone.

 _Sweet Merlin, what have I done to deserve this?_

"Over here!" Theodore hollered from the bar, waving her over. "Look who decided to drop by The Leaky Cauldron tonight," he smiled, utterly oblivious. "I'm sure you remember Draco."

She tensed, a safe distance away. "Yes, of course."

Without meaning to, they made eye contact.

The grey hovered over her like a storm cloud.

"Hello," he voiced. "It's been a long time, Granger."

 _It's actually been a day, but sure._

Hermione cleared her throat, forcing her lips into what she hoped was a casual, unperturbed smile. "Malfoy," she curtly acknowledged.

Theodore stared between them, oblivious. "Maybe a round of drinks?" he said, earning two nods, in unison.

This time around, he ordered firewhiskey on the rocks, Hermione's favourite. When the drinks arrived, she swallowed a mouthful of the fiery liquid. It burned the back of her throat a little, in a way that distracted from the ferret in the room.

"So," Theodore looked to them, seated in the middle. "Chilly night, isn't it?"

Hermione glanced around the pub, feigning indifference. "I don't know. I feel quite warm."

"Odd," Malfoy remarked, earning a sideways look from the witch, as he took a drink. "I could've sworn you were a little cold."

 _Oh, my God. Was that . . . was he referencing . . . ? That scoundrel!_

"We can always move closer to the fireplace," Theodore offered, kindly.

"That won't be necessary." Hermione swallowed another mouthful. "I'm quite fine here, but I . . . do you smell that?" she asked, sniffing. "It smells like . . . what is that . . . ferret dung?"

Malfoy snickered into his glass.

Theodore sniffed a few times. "I don't smell anything," he said. "Actually . . . I have been feeling a little stuffy as of late. Perhaps Tom has some Pepperup Potion in the back. I'll go ask."

Before Hermione could object, he was up and gone. _Fuck._ She looked to the door, wondering if it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye to Theodore, swiftly dismissing the idea. It was definitely rude. She would just have to wait.

That in mind, the brunette sipped lightly on her near empty drink, acutely aware that the storm cloud was hovering over her again.

A couple stools to the left, Malfoy swirled his drink in one hand, taking a careful sip. "Are we going to ignore it?" he asked, catching the witch off guard.

Hermione choked on the fire whiskey. "Ignore what?" she managed to say.

The blonde smirked. "Never mind," he said. "Interesting that you're here with Theo."

"We're just friends," she clarified, for whatever reason.

"I don't remember asking."

She rolled her eyes. "My mistake. I was under the impression that you wanted to start a conversation."

His lips twitched into a smile. "Granger, there's no need to act all stroppy. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

"How noble of you," she inserted.

"Trust me, I've been taking art classes for a long time," he furthered, ignoring her sarcastic remark. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

She looked to him, eyebrow arched. "Thanks?"

Malfoy smirked, finishing the rest of his fire whiskey before ordering another round. "If it helps, I'll let you hang on to the drawing. For safe keeping."

Her chest tightened a little. "You have it right now?"

He nodded. "I carry my portfolio everywhere."

 _Portfolio . . . ? Who does he think he is, Jack Dawson?_

Without another word, Malfoy reached into the confines of his black cloak and retrieved a slim, art portfolio, made of the same cognac leather as his oxfords. "Have a look," he said, handing it to her.

Hermione waited a moment, looking at it as though it were nuclear grade weaponry, before the doubts subsided. She extended an arm and took hold of the portfolio, undoing the string to find a collection of drawings, both wizarding and muggle, inside. _I wonder if any of them are French,_ she mused, noting that most of the models were women of a . . . nude variety. Regardless, the drawings were quite good. Simple, yet detailed in all the right ways. Where most artists focused on the beauty of their models, Malfoy seemed to focus on the imperfections, the tiny details that made each woman unique.

"You're quite talented," she found herself saying, distantly aware that he was closer, seated on the stool directly next to hers, where Theodore had been. "This is a hobby of yours?"

He nodded. "Just a way to relax. Malfoy Apothecary keeps me quite busy, most days."

"Right. Your family's winery." Hermione flipped to the next drawing, floored by the pose. "I . . . how on earth can she bend that way? Goodness gracious."

Malfoy smiled, faintly. "Her name is Katya," he explained. "And that pose is a yoga stance called Sirsa Padasana."

"Is she . . . a friend of yours?" Hermione asked, casually. "She's in more than a few of these."

"Yeah, we're mates," he nodded. "Her girlfriend is in my art class, as well."

The tightness in her chest gave away. "Ah, lovely."

Malfoy looked to the witch, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Turn to the next one," he suggested, in a way that hinted to her, what she would find.

Hermione followed his suggestion. "Oh," she voiced, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"That's you."

"Yes, that's . . . me." Immediately silenced, the brunette simply looked at the drawing.

Like the others, it was detailed and natural, and though it was beautiful, it still looked an awful lot like her. The only difference in this drawing, compared to the others, was the raw element of it, the look in her eyes that proved she wasn't just a figure in an art class, but a person . . . an intricate web of ambition, experience, and insecurity. It was like the artist knew her . . . _really,_ truly knew her. And goodness, the way he captured everything just right . . .

The witch breathed in, blinking rapidly as she snapped back to reality. "Nice," she forced out. "Incomplete, but nice."

Malfoy smirked. "To be fair, you did run out of the class after about twenty or thirty minutes. I'm fast, but I'm not that fast."

"Right." Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the memory. It was only a day ago, and yet, the memory of it felt oddly distant. "Well, like I said, you're quite talented."

"Thank you," he nodded, taking the portfolio as she handed it back to him. "You know, there's a . . . there's an art show tomorrow night. A few of my pieces will be on display. It's er . . . just a small thing," he explained. "You should drop by."

She looked to him, brows high. "You're inviting me?"

"I believe so."

Hermione paused. _I have nothing to do tomorrow, besides work. I . . . I suppose I could drop by . . . but what's the catch? Why is he inviting me, in the first place? We're . . . we're not friends._

"Anyway. If you're interested, the event will be hosted down the road from the art class, in this large, glass building. Impossible to miss."

"I'll drop by if I have time," Hermione decided, allowing herself the option to freak out and bail, because she knew that would more than likely happen.

Malfoy nodded his head. "Brilliant. On that note, I should probably head out."

"You're leaving already?" she asked, wheeling a look around to find that Theodore was on his way back to the bar. It seemed Tom had given him some Pepperup Potion, as his ears and nose were steaming.

"I've an early day tomorrow," Malfoy explained, looking to his portfolio a moment. "Oh, wait. I almost forgot to give you the drawing. Just one moment . . . "

Hermione opened her mouth. "Actually," she cut in, catching his attention. "Maybe you should hold on to it."

He paused. "You don't want it?"

"I do. I just . . . " Their eyes met, out of nowhere. "I think I'd rather have the finished product," she uttered, speaking words without thinking them through.

There was a slight fracture in his cool demeanour, as the message was delivered loud and clear. "Of course," he nodded, tucking the portfolio under his arm. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Hermione smiled, tilting back another sip of fire whiskey. "You just might."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading this chapter! The next one is underway ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_ _Chapter Three is here! Yaaaaay. I hope you like it :)_

 _ **Beta:**_ _katchin05_

* * *

 _You keep it flying so high_  
 _But lock it down low so it feels right_  
 _Just look into the sky and it becomes you_  
 _Sweep young feel on a dark night_  
 _Lifting me up into arms tight_  
 _Open up my mind and it becomes you_

 _"8896" by_ _Låpsley_

* * *

"So let me get this straight." Neville's face screwed. "You unknowingly posed for Draco Malfoy's art class, and now you need me to accompany you to some arty event that he invited you to, because you don't want him to think you're interested?"

Hermione stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee and nodded. "Precisely."

" _Are_ you interested?"

She choked on her first sip. "God, no!"

"Then why do you care what he thinks?" Neville asked, a knowing smile on his face.

Hermione glared at the young man, having asked him to lunch at a cafe not too far from the Ministry. "I don't care. I simply . . . don't want to lead him on," she replied, believably, if not for her tone of voice. It went high the way it usually did when she wasn't honest.

Neville snickered. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm _not_ lying."

"Oh, but you are," he smirked. "You know how I can tell?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How?" she asked, less than enthused.

"Instead of declining the invitation and telling him you can't make it like a normal person would, you've gone through the trouble of bringing me here and bribing me to be your date with a fine selection of French pastries at your arsenal." Neville folded his arms and slowly shook his head. "You, Miss Granger, are playing dirty, and you only play dirty when you're hiding something."

She opened her mouth, ready to refute his argument, only to fall short. "Fine," Hermione sighed, leaning on the back of her chair. "You want the truth? I didn't just pose for his art class. I posed _nude_."

Neville's jaw dropped. "Nude, as in —"

"Completely naked," she interjected, reliving the horror of it all over again.

"How in Merlin's name did that happen?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I was feeling a little . . . trapped in my life, I suppose. Point is, he saw me, and then we ran into each other at the pub . . . and I don't know if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline, but I . . . I basically told him to finish what he started. In other words, I —"

"Opened the door to no-mans-land."

"Precisely."

"And because you were the one to do it, the Quaffle is now in Malfoy's clutches."

"Exactly."

"But, by bringing a date to his art show, you're metaphorically snatching the Quaffle out of his clutches and tossing it through one of his hoops."

She rapidly nodded. "Yes, absolutely."

Neville leaned back, weighing on it. "Okay, this is far too hilarious to pass up. I'm in."

Her eyes shot open. "Really? You are?"

"Yes," he decided. " — but _only_ on the condition that you _don't_ run for the hills as soon as we get there."

Hermione sucked in, mildly outraged and also a little embarrassed. "Fine. Fair enough."

 _ **Evening**_

There were far too many scenarios playing in her mind, for her to get dressed in a timely fashion. Hermione ran in and out of the loo, hair half done and one shoe on, as her doorbell went off. "Shite!" She raced to the front door — really more of a hobble — and unlocked it using wandless magic.

On the other side stood Neville, looking mighty dapper in his tailored black dress robes and his hair combed to the side. Since Hogwarts, he'd really grown into his looks and Hermione wasn't the only witch who noticed. More than half of the girls who ignored him in school now chased after him, as though they were the stars of a John Hughes film. It was all rather embarrassing, in Hermione's opinion. She had _always_ seen Neville was boyfriend material.

Only, he wasn't exactly interested in women.

That was the main reason she had asked him to be her faux date for the art show. Theo would have been a nice choice, but she honestly had no romantic interested in him, whereas he clearly had some feelings for her. It was wrong to lead him on. Most other options were in committed, long-term relationships, but even if they weren't, she would have felt awkward involving them. Harry would have definitely lost his mind if he found out about the art class, and things with Ron had never really recovered from their brief relationship. Neville was clearly the best candidate, and the most willing to stick it to his former bully.

Hermione gave him a once-over. "You can't wear that."

"What?" Neville glanced down at his tailor-made dress robes, bewildered. "Is it too fancy or something? I thought you said the event was black tie."

"It is. I think."

"So what's the problem?"

Before the neighbours caught wind, she pulled him into the flat and closed the door. "It's a muggle event," Hermione explained, frustrated at forgetting to tell him. "You can't wear dress robes in front of muggles. They'll think you're mad."

He rubbed the back of his head, at a loss. "Thing is, I don't have fancy muggle clothes."

"I assumed as much," she said, folding her arms, in thought, before a light bulb went off. "Oh, I've an idea! Come with me." Before he could object, she grabbed a hold of his arm and dragged him to the bedroom, where she opened her wardrobe to reveal a dark blue suit in roughly the same size as his dress robes. "Try this on!"

Neville stared at the suit wide-eyed, and then at her. "Is this . . . yours?"

"No, it's —" Her chest contracted. "It was Blaise's. He wore it last autumn, to my parents' anniversary dinner." She forced a smile and shrugged. "I, er . . . I suppose he forgot to take it with him when he moved out."

The Herbology expert fell silent, looking to her, as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You OK?"

She nodded. "Yes, absolutely. I'm fine, it's just memories, you know?"

Neville breathed out, lowering the suit before clapping a hand on Hermione's shoulder and pulling her in for a sideways hug. "We'll have fun tonight," he promised. "Forget the Quaffle, yeah? We're going straight for the Golden Snitch."

Hermione laughed. "Considering neither of us can fly a broom to save our lives, I think we're in for an eventful night."

 _ **One Hour Later**_

The venue was surprisingly easy to find. It was a tall, glass building down the road from the red brick building in which the art class was held. Because they were in a muggle-heavy area of London, Hermione convinced Neville to take the tube with her.

It was his first time, and although they nearly missed their stop when Neville decided to check out a cute Northern European tourist, Hermione managed to pry him out of the train car and onto the glistening streets.

"This is the place?" Neville asked, hands in his pockets as they arrived at the doors.

Hermione glanced ahead, trying her best to ignore the knot in her gut. "Yes, I believe so." Just as her date reached for the door handle, she rocked back. "Wait," she blurted, evading a group of snooty looking art lovers as they brushed past. "How do I . . . how do I look?"

Neville smiled in that knowing way. "Trying to impress a certain ferret?"

She forcibly scoffed. "Pfft, no . . . I just . . . I want to look good for me."

"Well, you do. As a matter of fact, you look stunning," he said to her, honestly. "Can we go inside now?"

There was a twitch along her bottom lip before she exhaled, deeply. "Okay, yes. Let's do that," she decided, linking arms with him as he opened the door. "They'll serve drinks in there, right?"

 _ **Inside**_

Because the place was filled to capacity, it was difficult to move around without bumping into someone and being forced into conversation about his work. It was strange to think all those people were there to see _his_ art. Had he any semblance of any ego, it would've popped from over inflation. The war and the many changes in his life after it, seemed to have humbled him a little bit — _a lot_.

"Your work is _amazing_ ," started a red-haired woman whose name he couldn't be arsed to remember. "The intricacies, the uniqueness, the _raw_ emotion in every piece. It's all so vivid and real, yet fantastical in this indescribable way."

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the woman. "Thanks," he mustered, trying not to sound like too much of an arsehole. "Anyway, erm, I have to go . . . over there." With one hand, he motioned to no place in particular, and bowed out of the conversation in the most polite way possible.

He loved art but he _hated_ the art crowd, because It reminded him too much of pureblood society. Nothing but arse kissing to those deemed worthy, and thinly veiled insults to the rest. It was all so rubbish and insincere, and if he had to deal with it at all, he at least reserved the right to do it tipsy.

Before he could swipe a glass of champagne off of the nearest serving tray, there was a tap on his shoulder.

Mildly annoyed, Draco turned around to find Katya, the model in most of his drawings, and her girlfriend Cheryl, a fellow artist. The tension in his features tapered away and he smiled, greeting both of them with a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm so relieved to see you two," he said, ducking behind them as the red-haired woman searched for him in the crowd. "I can't believe so many people are here."

Katya brushed his modesty aside and smacked him on the shoulder, playfully. "Believe it, Mr. Draco. You are a talented young man."

"Quite," Cheryl nodded, a woman of few words.

He scrunched his mouth to the side, meaning to play off the compliment before another server came by, holding a tray of champagne. Without a moment of thought, he swiped a flute and knocked it back, choking on it ever so slightly. Truth be told, he didn't like champagne as it reminded him too much of all the highbrow pureblood gatherings he was forced to attend in his younger years, but in that moment he would have consumed Millicent Bulstrode's bath water if it was a guaranteed buzz.

Katya folded her slender arms and smiled at him. "I take it your friend has yet to arrive?"

Draco wiped his lips, looking to the Russian woman. "Hmm?"

"The girl in the drawing," she furthered. "Curly hair, big eyes, perky br —"

" _Oh._ " He swallowed the beverage, tossing a look around the venue. "Right, er, I don't think she's coming."

Katya sipped lightly on her glass of champagne. "Why do you say that?" she asked, darting a look over his shoulder, towards the door.

He shrugged. "I don't know. She's a busy person. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's an Aur —" His throat clenched around the word before he could utter the second syllable. "An . . . aur . . . aur . . . _orthodontist_ ," he fabricated, vaguely aware that the occupancy had something to do with teeth. This way, if Granger did turn up, her perfect teeth would support the false job title. Merlin knew what his muggle friends would have thought if he told them Granger spent her days taking down evil witches and wizards.

Katya nodded along, oblivious. "So why haven't you told us about this Harmony Granger before?"

" _Hermione_ ," he corrected, falling silent as he realized it was the first time he had uttered that name out loud. "Erm, I don't know. We went to school together, but we were never friends. Come to think of it, I kind of tormented her a little bit."

"Typical," Cheryl voiced, earning looks from the other two before they carried on.

Katya refocused. "And why did you torment this poor girl?"

 _Because she was a Muggle-born, know-it-all bint and a great pain in my bigoted arse._

Draco cleared his throat, if only to buy time. "I, er . . . I wasn't the nicest person when I was a teenager," he explained, honestly. "I was actually kind of a bully, and Granger was an easy target. So was a boy named Neville. They were friends."

"Neville?" Katya repeated, looking over his shoulder again. "Does this Neville have dark hair, a long nose and a . . . _forgetful_ look on his face?"

Draco narrowed his eyes a moment. "Yes, he does. How the bloody hell did you guess that?"

Katya opened her mouth to clue him in, before Cheryl beat her to the punch.

"Behind you," she said.

Before he could properly register the last minute of conversation, Draco turned around and laid eyes on the curly-haired brunette by the door. His jaw tensed. That night, her hair was down in tight spirals, the ends of which bounced a little with every step she took, and she was adorned in a knee-length black dress that hugged her shapely hips in _just_ the right way. There wasn't an eye in the room she didn't catch.

It took him a good, long moment to realize he was staring.

Draco shook his head, attempting to clear muddled thoughts, until his eyes darted to the person whose arm was linked with the brunette's.

 _Longbottom?!_

"What in the flying fuck . . . " He gaped at them, shamelessly. "Is that possible?"

Katya found his side and took another sip of champagne. "Is what possible?" she asked, casually.

"That," he blurted, face screwing. " _Them_."

"Oh, dear. Is Mr. Draco jealous?" she teased.

He narrowed his eyes at the woman, forcing down some more champagne. "I don't get jealous." _Except I do; hence the six years of animosity between myself and Harry Potter._ "I'll be in the back if anyone needs me."

Katya spun around to face him. "You are not going to say hello to your friends?" she asked, sounding vaguely like his mother.

Draco ignored the knot in his gut. "In a bit."

"No, no, no. You must do it now," the Russian decided, looking to the door and raising her slender arms. "Harmony!" she called out in a delightfully thick accent, catching the brunette's attention. "Harmony, over here!"

"Hermione," Cheryl quietly corrected.

"Yes, this is what I'm saying. _Harmony_."

Before Draco could make a run for it, Granger and her date (?) had already started from the door to the space by the bar, where he and his friends stood. It took them a moment to weave through the crowd. By the time they arrived, he'd already started on a second glass of champagne.

"Harmony," Katya greeted, leaning in to kiss Granger on the cheek, as she and Neville made it to the bar. "It is so good to finally meet you. Mr. Draco tells us a lot about the runaway model."

He snapped a hard look at Katya, to which she remained blissfully ignorant.

Granger, on the other hand, seemed to tense up a bit, _still_ reeling from what happened a couple days ago, before a small smile found her lips. "It's good to meet you, as well. I had the pleasure of flipping through Mal— _Draco's_ portfolio. It astounds me that you're able to hold such challenging poses for so long."

Katya brushed the compliment aside. "It is all a matter of practice. Come to my yoga class and I can teach you everything there is to know," she offered, glancing around their small circle of people. "Oh, where are my manners? This is Cheryl, my girlfriend."

"Oh, yes. I remember you from Agatha's class," the brunette recalled, smiling. "It's nice to see you again."

Cheryl nodded once. "Pleasure."

Following that, Granger looked to her left, where Neville stood, and urged him forward a few inches. "This is Neville," she introduced, waiting as Katya and Cheryl greeted him in much the same way as they had her. "He's my, erm . . ." Her eyes veered to him and her lips curved around unspoken words.

"I'm her plus one," Neville swiftly interjected. "Good to meet you both."

Seconds later, all four of them fixed their eyes on Draco, who remained quiet throughout the introductions. He swallowed his mouthful of champagne, acutely aware that Katya was making a face at him as if to suggest that he do something ludicrous like open his mouth and talk.

Draco cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming," he managed to say, looking to Granger in a way that he hoped was normal. "Both of you," he added, darting a look at Longbottom, who was glaring daggers at him. _Rightly so,_ voiced his conscience. In an effort to deter the awkwardness for even a moment, he reached out to shake Longbottom's hand. "Been ages, hasn't it?"

Longbottom nodded curtly, and shook his hand in a similar manner. "Yeah. Haven't seen you since the battle."

"Battle?" Katya repeated, lifting her eyebrow at them. "What battle?"

The magic folk froze for a moment, after which Granger put that quick thinking to good use.

"They're talking about _Battleship,_ the tabletop game," she explained, voicing the words as they came to her. "It was very popular in the boarding school we went to. There was a massive tournament at the end of the term, and these two were the best players."

"I won the tournament," Neville quickly added.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, that's right. You did. I assume there was a lot of time to practice whilst your friends were constantly doing things without you."

Granger's mouth flew open as if to scold him for being rude, before she remembered that Katya and Cheryl were still watching. "To my knowledge, his talent came naturally."

Katya stared between the lot of them, confused but aware. "On that note, I think it's time for me and Cheryl to say hello to Agatha and then go home."

Draco's lip twitched. "Already?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so. I've an early flight to St. Petersburg in the morning, but it was very nice meeting all of you."

"You, too," Granger and Longbottom said, in unison.

In a blink, telephone numbers were exchanged and hugs were given out, before Cheryl and Katya waved farewell; the latter of whom darted a look at Neville, from an angle that only Draco could see, and quickly winked. For a second, Draco hadn't the faintest idea what she was suggesting, but everything clicked the moment he looked to Neville and noticed that the bloke was making eyes with another bloke. A thirty-something Swede by the name of Markus, who happened to be a regular model for Agatha's class.

 _Interesting._

"I'll be right back," Longbottom mumbled, ignoring Granger's looks of protest as Markus nodded him over.

The second he left, disappearing into the crowd, Granger's warm, brown eyes darted to Draco in a sweep of uncertainty. She looked nervous, almost as nervous as when she'd been spread across that chaise lounge in the buff.

"Thanks for coming," he said again, if only to fill the silence. "I appreciate the, er, support."

"Looks to me like you have a ton of support as it is," she said, motioning to the crowd of people around them.

He laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, trust me. I know less than half of these people."

"Where did the others come from?"

"No idea," he shrugged. "I suspect they're just following the herd. Come tomorrow, I'll be old news and they'll be fawning over someone else's work."

"Oh, I doubt that. Your work is actually quite mesmerizing," she described, looking to the nearest painting and falling into step with him, as they strolled towards it. "Take this one, for example. It's a portrait of a beautiful older woman, dressed like royalty and surrounded by the finest antique furniture money can buy. She's smiling, yes, but when you take a second to really look in her eyes, you can see that everything around her, the furniture and the clothes on her back, it's all just a façade; an illusion to distract from the fact that, for some reason, her heart is either broken or breaking at that very moment and . . . and you managed to capture all of that with just a paint brush," the brunette said to him, breathing gently. "I find that pretty remarkable."

Draco blinked, only then realizing his eyes had been on Granger the entire time.

"Wait," she suddenly said, looking to him. "That's — that's your mother. The woman in the painting."

With no choice, he fixed his eyes on the portrait. "Yes, that's her. Narcissa Malfoy."

Granger's lips parted, as if she meant to apologize for the bit about the façade, even though she was absolutely right, but those words didn't come out. "How is she? Your mother, I mean."

"I think you got the gist of it," he offered, hands in his pockets.

"What about you?" she then asked, earning a vaguely surprised look from him. "How are you?"

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that question. _I'm doing well in terms of career and hobbies, and I've recently purchased an enormous penthouse flat in the most expensive part of wizarding London, but I'm also insanely fucking depressed and you can probably tell just by looking at me that it's been ages since anyone has taken the time to ask me how I am._

"I'm good," he lied.

Granger was too perceptive to believe him, and too empathetic of his hangups to pry. "I think this one might be my favourite," she said, putting on a smile as she directed him to another painting.

It was a simple, streetscape view of what muggles presumed to be a quaint, countryside village — but Granger knew better.

"Hogsmeade," she smiled, recognizing the thatched roofs, village square, layout of the nameless shops, and in the distance, the slim shadow of The Shrieking Shack. "Merlin, it's been ages since I was last there."

"Do you miss it?" he asked, for whatever reason.

"The village? Yes, I suppose I do. I'd love to visit, but it wouldn't feel the same as an adult, would it?"

Draco nodded in thought. There was something to be said about the youthful innocence of one's adolescence, and how places like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley weren't nearly as bewitching, once that innocence started to fade. "I haven't been there since the war," he admitted.

Her eyes slowly drifted to him. "They banned you, didn't they?"

For a moment, he was surprised, and then he remembered she worked for the Ministry. Of course, she knew. "Hogsmeade and most shops in Diagon Alley, save for Ollivander's and Gringotts."

"Is that why you've — "

"Thrown myself into muggle society?" he smirked. "Yes. It's nice having a clean slate."

Granger absorbed the information, sipping lightly on her champagne. "Katya and Cheryl seem lovely," she said. "I still can't believe Katya can bend like that. In fact, I might have to take her up on that offer to join yoga. Maybe then I'll make for an interesting figure to draw," she laughed.

"Oh, you're plenty interesting," Draco countered, smiling sideways as he took another drink of champagne. "It's not everyday a model bolts out of the class at top speed."

The brunette grimaced. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she asked, the faintest note of humour in her eyes.

"Not if I can help it."

She laughed. "I'll have you know it was a horrific experience. I'll never be able to wear that dress again, without thinking of —"

 _Me?_

" — the look on that snobby receptionist's face when I sprinted through the corridor half-naked."

"You know I chased after you, right?"

"Did you?" she mused, looking to him. "Why?"

The blonde shrugged. "I wanted to find out what you were doing in that class to begin with," he explained. "I mean, you pretty much know my story, so it's only fair that I know yours."

Granger nodded slowly, sipping on her champagne. "Okay, sure," she decided. "It was two parts work leave, three parts horrible breakup, and a standard garnish of boredom, monotony, and blind optimism."

"Sounds like a fine little cocktail."

"If by 'fine' you mean 'the most mortifying experience of all time', then yes," she nodded, laughing and shaking her head. "Of all the art classes in the city, I simply _had_ to walk directly into yours."

"Maybe it was fate," he winked.

She rolled her eyes, smiling nonetheless. "Fate, torture — they're one in the same, really."

"Oh, come now. It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Posing nude for over twenty minutes, only to discover my schoolyard rival in the same vicinity? There are few things more horrific than that, I'm afraid."

Draco laughed. "Okay, I suppose that does sound a little mortifying," he offered. "In any case, it takes a lot of courage to bare all for a bunch of strangers. Boredom, monotony and blind optimism aside, it was a ballsy move and I commend you for it."

There was a slight lift to her eyebrows, as she looked to him. No words left her lips, and yet a solid _thanks_ was delivered.

Moments later Draco snorted, nodding to the bar. "Looks like your date is having a good time," he remarked.

Granger spun around, following his line of vision to find her 'date' knocking back what looked like his third or fourth shot. Markus was next to him, chatting him up and nursing a drink that appeared as though it hadn't been touched all night.

She tensed. "I should probably see if he's OK."

"Yeah, might be a good idea," Draco advised. "I'll . . . catch up with you later?"

"I'd like that."

 _ **Two Hours Later**_

By the time Hermione dragged Neville away from Markus, out of the glass building, and onto the Knight Bus, she realized he didn't have his keys or his wand on him, as he had probably left them in the pockets of the dress robes that he originally planned to wear. It was a minor blip that she decided to ignore, opting instead to take him to her own flat, where she could at least keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.

Given the circumstances, she wasn't _too_ annoyed at Neville. Of course, he didn't have to drink so much, and he should honestly have remembered to bring his keys and wand with him, but the former was easily forgiven. As far as the wizarding community in Britain was concerned, there weren't many romantic options for Neville. On the rare occasion that he did find someone, his body would seize up in a fit of nerves, and he would deal with it by drinking — a bit too much, sometimes.

Apparently, Markus was no exception.

That in mind, Hermione helped him through the door of her tiny, one bedroom flat and onto her brand new bedding.

Neville moaned as his body made contact with the soft, Egyptian cotton sheets. "Mmm. Thanks, nan."

"I'm not your —"

 _Ring, ring._

Hermione spun around, bumping her knee into the nightstand. "Damn it!" Face twisting, she clapped a hand over her left kneecap and looked to her desk, where the mobile she used to contact her parents lay to rest. Because electronic devices went haywire in magic-heavy zones, it took some tweaking for the phone to work. Dumb luck combined with a few tips from Arthur Weasley, and she managed.

One glance at the time on her wristwatch and she knew that her parents definitely were not on the other side of that call. And if it wasn't them, it had to be . . .

 _Malfoy._

Because Neville was in such a state, and because it was her responsibility to make sure he was all right since she dragged him to the event in the first place, she left the art show a little early. Malfoy took notice, ran over, thanked her for coming and weirdly enough, asked for her mobile number. For a few seconds, she stood speechless, shocked that he knew of mobile phones, before the digits came pouring out of her mouth. It was all such a blur that she nearly forgot it happened.

That was, until, the sound of that sharp ringtone tore through the silence of her flat.

She quickly hobbled to the desk, careful not to wake Neville, and juggled with the phone a moment before flipping it open.

"H — Hello?"

There was music in the background, but it wasn't the soft jazz music from the art show. It sounded more like the radio. " _Hey, it's Draco,_ " spoke a familiar voice. " _I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time, but I'm just in a taxi heading home right now and I wanted to know if you got back safely. This neighbourhood isn't the greatest at night._ "

Something tugged at her chest. "Oh, erm, I'm in my flat, so . . . nothing to worry about," she said, scrunching her face out of embarrassment. "Thanks for . . . wanting to know."

" _No problem_. _Longbottom still in one piece?_ "

Hermione looked to the bed, a sharp pang in her gut as she realized he was drooling on her new pillow case. "He's alive."

Malfoy laughed. " _Good to know,_ " he offered. " _Anyway, er . . . I was wondering if maybe you'd like to grab a drink or something?_ "

She opened her mouth, holding it like that for a few seconds. "Now?"

" _Yeah. I know it's late but —_ "

"Neville's here," she interrupted. "I probably shouldn't leave him on his own when he's passed out like this."

" _Oh, right. I forgot._ "

She squeezed her eyes closed, for whatever reason. "Sorry _._ "

" _What? No, no, no. Don't be sorry. I, er, I don't know why I asked. Wishful thinking, I suppose. I'm sure you have work in the morning, anyway._ "

Something tugged at her chest again. "Actually, no. I don't have to be at work until noon," she explained. "If you want, you could always come over."

There was a moment of silence on his end. " _To yours?_ "

"Yes," Hermione answered, rather quickly. "Unless that's weird."

" _No —_ " he blurted. " _I, erm . . . no. Definitely not weird._ "

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Okay, well, I'll text you my address."

" _Sounds good. See you in a few?_ "

"Yeah," Hermione said back, quickly closing her phone.

She wasn't naive enough to think there wasn't a sexual connotation to such a late night visit, _but_ _he surely hadn't accepted with hopes of getting laid_. Neville was passed out in her bedroom, for Merlin's sake. _No,_ she decided, freeing her mind of those thoughts as she sent him the address. _Nothing will happen. We'll have a few drinks and chat. Nothing else._

As if to second her decision, Neville mumbled in his sleep a moment and changed the rhythm of his snoring.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading this chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**_ _And here we have Chapter Four. Sorry for the wait. It's a little shorter than the others but took me ages to write. The next one is steadily underway. Enjoy!_

 ** _Beta:_** _katchin05_

* * *

 _You've got another boy to lose  
But does he want you like I do?_  
 _I bet you've seen it all before_  
 _I bet you always wanted more_

 _"Ready For You" by Years & Years_

* * *

Hermione paced the lounge. It wasn't the first time she'd invited a man to her flat. Hell, it wasn't the first time she'd invited a Slytherin. It was, however, the first time since her breakup, and the fact that her ex-boyfriend had once been friends with the wizard in question, left a knot in her stomach. Was it inappropriate? Was she wrong for inviting Draco Malfoy, Blaise's school chum, to her flat in the middle of the night? Would she have cared if Blaise invited one of her friends to his new flat?

The answer was no. She was a grown woman and had every right to spend time with whomsoever she pleased. She no longer had to take her ex-boyfriend's feelings into consideration. She wouldn't have cared all that much, if Blaise fancied one of her friends.

"Er —" Hermione froze, swiftly dismissing that train of thought. "I _don't_ fancy him," she voiced. "I don't."

Moments later, there was a knock on her door.

She spun around, looking to the door before slowly approaching it and leaning forward to take a gander through the peephole. Living in a muggle building, buzzing her guests inside was unnecessary as the lot of them could bypass the lock with magic.

Hermione quickly summoned her wand and pointed it at the sound system, using music to hide _Neville snoring louder than a bone saw_ , then tucked it away and opened the door.

On the other side, stood a tall, blonde-haired wizard, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched only a little, as his eyes slowly found hers. "Hi," he greeted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Hermione blanked, the knot in her stomach tightening with each second, before she chose simply to ignore it. "Hi," she said back, stepping aside and waving him forth. "Come in, come in."

Malfoy followed her inside, shrugging out of his coat and scarf, as his eyes wandered around her cozy, one-bedroom flat. It was, of course, impeccably clean, decorated in warm, vibrant colours, and carried her scent of vanilla.

She imagined his flat was ten times the size, but the look on his face showed no such judgment.

"You have a nice place," he said, studying the many artifacts that decorated her lounge.

Hermione draped his coat and scarf on the door hook and followed him into the lounge, knowing he would find the evidence in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. "Thanks. It's not much, but . . . it's home."

His attention fell to the photographs that lined her mantelpiece. Most were of friends and family during the holidays and other special occasions, but there was one that stood out from the rest; the only shred of evidence that remained of her most recent relationship.

There was a hint of surprise in the blonde's eyes, but he quickly blinked it away.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, not only because it was the polite thing to do, but because she really, truly needed something to distract from the awkward tension. "I'm sure I have some Elvish Wine somewhere."

"Actually . . . " Malfoy turned around, withdrawing a palm-sized object from his pocket, which he then transfigured into its true size. "I hope you don't mind."

Hermione glanced down, looking to the bottle of Superior Red in his clutches. It was the brand of wine his family manufactured at Malfoy Apothecary. "Oh, no. Not at all. I . . . I'll grab some glasses," she said to him, mildly impressed that he hadn't arrived empty-handed.

With that, she disappeared into the kitchen and rummaged through her cupboards in the dimness, locating two wine glasses and a corkscrew, returning to the lounge moments later.

By that time, Malfoy had directed his attention to the window. "Looks like a storm is coming," he remarked, eyes fixed on the dark clouds.

Hermione uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of wine into both glasses, handing one to him as she downed her first mouthful. Slowly, the background music grew louder and the knot in her stomach began to unravel.

"I trust the rest of the art show went well?" she asked, meeting eyes with him as he turned.

"Yeah, it went surprisingly well," he nodded, taking a drink of wine. "Thanks, again, for coming. I hope you had a nice time — before Longbottom downed half the bar, I mean."

The brunette covered her mouth to keep from laughing. "That reminds me," she said, nodding to the corridor. "I should probably check on him. If you don't mind, that is."

"Oh, not at all. Go ahead. I'll wait here."

Without another word, Hermione set her glass down and moved to the bedroom where Neville's face and body were plastered on her fresh bedsheets. She sighed, thinking of the thread count and how much those sheets would cost to replace, should he vomit on them. _I wonder what he'll think, when I tell him I invited Malfoy over for drinks._ The witch chewed on her bottom lip, dismissing the idea. _Maybe I should keep that one to myself._

She summoned her wand and performed the necessary spells to see if he would be OK until morning. Once that was done, she turned to the door and gasped, body seizing as a clap of thunder echoed above, causing the walls to shake and the lights to flicker out.

It seemed the storm had finally come.

" _Lumos,_ " she murmured, navigating through the darkness.

The entirety of her flat was illuminated in bright, blue flashes as lightning struck down. In truth, she wasn't the best when it came to storms. It wasn't so much the chance of getting stricken that terrified her, as it was the angry claps of thunder. She didn't like loud sounds, and she especially didn't like the feeling of having no control.

Luckily, Malfoy didn't seem to notice.

"Sorry," she quickly apologized. "This normally doesn't happen. I . . . I'll grab some candles."

"Do you need any help?" he asked, following her into the kitchen before she could say anything.

Wands out and rain smacking against the windows, the pair opened and closed various cabinets and drawers, locating six candles in total, before returning to the lounge and lighting the wicks with magic. Hermione placed hers on the mantelpiece and coffee table, whilst Malfoy took to the bureau and windowsill.

In a matter of minutes, the flat was aglow.

Hermione turned around, looking to Malfoy as he lifted his head from the bureau. The grey of his eyes smouldered in the candlelight like it used to in Potions class, amid the flame of his standard pewter cauldron.

" _So_ hot," she sighed.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked, looking away from the window.

"Er —" The blood drained out of her cheeks and she cleared her throat, awkwardly. A plethora of white lies filled her mind, but none escaped her lips.

"I suppose it is rather hot in here," Malfoy furthered, saving the day without knowing it. He took a moment to unbutton his suit coat before draping it on the arm of the nearest chair. Underneath, was a white dress shirt, the collar of which complimented the length of his neck in a fashion that was both stylish and distracting.

Hermione bit lightly on her bottom lip, forcing her eyes away. "So," she started, swallowing a sip of wine to combat the strange thoughts running through her mind.

"So?" he repeated, a slight difference to the sound of his voice. "You and Blaise, huh?"

Warmth dashed through her cheeks. _It was a matter of time._ "Yes," she answered, looking to him to find him focused on the leftmost photograph that decorated her mantelpiece. In it, were Ginny, Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville, and, on the very end with his arm around her, Blaise. Their eyes were on each other and they were smiling; nothing too suggestive or enthusiastic, simply a moment of joy captured in a single photograph. "Two parts work leave and three parts horrible breakup," she reiterated.

Malfoy looked to her through the corner of his eye, quick enough to catch the languish in hers, before she blinked it away. "How did you meet?"

She opened her mouth a millimetre or two, surprised that he asked, but more so that she was willing to answer. "We, erm . . . we worked together on a few assignments in school, but that was the extent of it until I saw him again. It was freshly after mine and Ron's childish attempt at a relationship. I . . ." She smiled, thinking about it. "I went to a nightclub in Sussex. Suffice to say, I was far out of my element. I remember planning an exit strategy within minutes of arrival, but then I saw Blaise and . . . he saw me. Because we had neither seen nor spoken to each other since the war, I wondered if he would even recognize me. Turns out, he did. 'One song,' he told me. To my surprise, we ended up dancing the entire night and he walked me home afterwards. We talked for hours. It was . . . nice. Unexpected and faster than I was used to, but . . . nice."

There was a pang in her chest as she remembered the events that had taken place barely a couple weeks ago. It was in that very flat, the same time of night.

"Can you believe we broke up over a tube of toothpaste?" she asked, lips turned into a smile that didn't carry through to her eyes. "We cared a lot about each other, but he was right for breaking it off. We _did_ rush into things. We _didn't_ have anything in common. Our lives _were_ headed in polar opposite directions."

"But?"

Unsurprised by the blonde's intuition, Hermione continued. "But I still didn't see it coming," she voiced, coming to terms with it, but in a way that wouldn't heal just yet. "Anyway, I . . . I should really check on Neville again." She faced away, taking a large drink of wine and forcing it down, before moving towards the corridor.

"If there's anything I can do to help . . . let me know," Malfoy cut in, bringing her steps to a halt. "Whatever you need," he furthered, looking down at the chocolate brown curls that brushed her elbows as she turned her head to the side.

Her profile was outlined by the candlelight. "Do you . . . do you have your drawing supplies handy?"

"Always."

There was a moment of silence before she spoke a word, a moment in which they could have turned back and chosen a different course of action, but neither did.

"Prepare them," she requested, softly. "And I'll prepare as well."

 _ **Ten Minutes Later**_

There was no denying the fact that it was an awful lot like that muggle film he watched the one time. The film in which Jack, the artist, had died in the freezing depths of the North Atlantic. Not the best sequences of events, in Draco's opinion, but he wasn't about to complain. For a solid moment, he wondered whether it was real, whether she had actually requested that of him.

 _And I'll prepare as well._

Those words echoed in his mind over and over again, as he sharpened his pencil and readied his other supplies. Because there wasn't much light, he had to turn the fireplace on and rearrange the furniture a little. It wasn't a drastic difference, just enough to capture the angles he needed. There was a tufted, velvet ottoman, which he transfigured into a chaise and repositioned.

Soon enough, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Draco sat across the ottoman-turned-chaise and angled his drawing paper.

In far less time than he had anticipated, the sound of footsteps emerged. As he looked to the corridor, he found Granger in nothing but a dressing gown. It was vintage and made of thin, blush pink material. The garment was held together by a few buttons in front, and it criss-crossed over her chest in a deep v.

He looked down at the pencil and pressed his index finger on the tip. It was sharp enough, but he kept at it, twisting the sharpener and brushing the shavings into a neat corner as Granger drifted from the corridor to the chaise. When Draco glanced up, she was standing with her back to him, and he held his breath as her dressing gown fell to the hardwood floor in a flutter.

There was a beat of silence, as she draped her body across the chaise, in the same pose as before. Only, this time she wasn't in the middle of an art class, with a dozen or so students looking at her, trying to capture her in just the right way. No . . . this time, there was only student, one _artist_ , and this time, she didn't run away from him.

Their eyes met, and for a moment Draco could think of nothing else but how difficult it would be to drag his pencil across the paper and do justice to Hermione Granger.

 _I'll never be that talented,_ he decided, forcing his eyes on the paper, where his efforts unfolded in a series of intricate markings.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: So sorry for the wait! I can't believe it's taken me two years to pump this out, lmao. Those of you who've been waiting, I can't thank you enough. I hope you like it!**_

* * *

 _Reckless, what I'm heading for_  
 _Lights flash, and I hear a roar_  
 _One touch and you're so powerful_  
 _You're burning through the night_

 _"Meteorite" by Years & Years _

* * *

They kept to their separate corners of the lounge in the quiet that followed, looking anywhere but directly at one another.

Hermione turned, sliding into her pale pink robe as the logs in the fireplace continued to hiss and crackle in the background. There was a faint whisper in the back of her mind, a voice. She knew it was rude of her not to say anything — to thank him or to offer tea. All things considered, she could barely bring herself to even make eye contact, let alone part her lips and _speak_.

To her relief, she didn't have to.

"Granger, I …"

Her chest tightened at the sound of his voice. _Get a hold of yourself, Hermione Granger. You're a grown woman, for Merlin's sake!_

Getting a hold of oneself was easier said than done, apparently.

Malfoy came forward — the slow, subdued rhythm of his shoes against the hardwood, echoing in the negative space between them. He came to a gradual halt, hovering only a few steps back as Hermione hesitantly turned, her eyes locked down on the floor.

Very slowly, she lifted her gaze.

The atmosphere grew still. Every sound, every motion, and every tick of the clock, slowed.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, glancing down at his hands immediately after. The brunette followed his line of vision, the knot in her stomach unraveling, as she laid eyes on the drawing. He held it between them, in quiet observation of her change in expression, the way her breath seemed to catch in her chest.

"It's … you're … I … it's … " Hermione swallowed the jumble of words in her throat, meeting his gaze. "You really are an amazing artist, Draco Malfoy."

His lips turned into a hint of a smile and he set the drawing atop the chaise, accidentally brushing Hermione's arm. "Sorry," he suddenly said, leaning away after. "I didn't mean to —"

"It's alright," she interjected.

They steered their looks in opposite directions, the storm outside having calmed.

"I, er … I suppose I should head off, then …" Malfoy began. "I imagine you've got your hands full with Longbottom."

Hermione moistened the dryness in her throat. "Right, yes."

For whatever reason she felt strange letting him go so soon. They had only just finished, and yet, she soon found herself following him to the door, coming forward to unlock it as he slid his coat on.

"Thanks again for coming to the art show," Malfoy reiterated, for what felt like the dozenth time.

Pressing her lips into a polite smile, Hermione nodded. "It was my pleasure. Do tell me if there's another," she said, in a voice which bore strange resemblance to the one she used at work.

Without another word, Malfoy came forth, facing her for only a split second before he bowed his head in farewell.

To say it was awkward would have been a gross distortion of facts.

Despite it all, she said nothing. She simply stood by the door as he passed through it, his pale head of hair dipping into the darkness. _I should have at least asked him to stay and wait for the power to return_ , she thought, her lips twitching apart before she could stop them.

"Malfoy, wait —"

He froze mid-step, glancing back at the witch before the words had finished leaving her lips.

" — Y-you forgot your scarf," Hermione uttered, swiping it from the coat rack.

Rubbing the side of his neck to find that it was bare, Malfoy blinked away whatever emotion had flickered through his eyes, an embarrassed colouring to his cheeks as he came forward to collect his scarf. "Thanks. I-I must have had more wine than I thought."

Hermione cleared her throat, putting on a smile. "S'okay," she said, passing him the scarf only to glance down at it as their hands brushed.

For a hot second they stood there exactly like that, both holding on, neither saying a word. It was only as Hermione blinked up at him, vaguely aware of the rush of feelings in her chest, that she dropped the scarf and lunged forward at the same time he did.

To her complete shock, she didn't vomit on contact

As if coming to the same realization, Malfoy tensed, but it lasted only a moment.

Within seconds, he wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her deeper than anyone had in a very long time — that she could remember, at least. She was sure that Nott had given her his best at the Christmas party, but she wasn't particularly keen on thinking of him just then.

Her only concern was keeping her balance as she and Malfoy backed up, through the door and into her flat, bumping into various walls and tables and shelves on their way to the loveseat. The furniture was all scattered and rearranged, but they somehow managed. Crashing down on top of the cushions, first him on top and then her, they pulled back to catch their breaths.

The candlelight made his eyes look smooth and hot, like liquid steel, and the way he was looking at her, utterly fixated like he was drawing her all over again, didn't help.

Hermione leaned in, succumbing to a much softer kiss, one that resonated through every inch of her body as the clothes gradually started coming off. Malfoy shrugged his coat off, and then his shirt, and suddenly the positions were flipped. He lowered Hermione onto the couch, suspending his weight above her as he left a trail of kisses from her lips, to her neck, to the gap between her breasts, unraveling her dressing gown as he went.

The second she felt his lips between her legs, she nearly passed out.

 _Malfoy's going down on me._

 _How in Merlin's fucking name did I end up here?_

 _More importantly, why does it feel s-so g-good?_

She squeezed her eyes closed, clamping down on her bottom lip to keep from making too loud a sound. Part of her had always wondered if Draco Malfoy could do more with his mouth than talk absolute rubbish. The way he used his lips and the very tip of his tongue, had left her breathless, clutching at the roots of his hair.

It wasn't long before she came, her clit twitching hard against his tongue as he kept going.

On the verge of losing all feeling in her lower half, Hermione choked, quickly releasing the grasp she had on his hair as he finally pulled away. "M-Merlin …" she panted.

"I've always wanted to do that," he said to her, as if he actually meant it.

Chest rising and falling, she slowly collected her breath, meeting him upright, in a kiss that soon found its way down her neck. "I might have considered it had you not been such an insufferable, little c-cockroach in s-school."

She felt his lips twitch into a smirk. "Sorry about that," he apologized, his words tickling the skin of her neck. "How could I ever make it up to you, Granger?"

Heart pounding inside her chest, she climbed on top of him again, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. "Maybe this way," she uttered.

His muscles tightened in response, as if just the notion of it, made him shiver.

In a matter of seconds, his trousers were off, and he'd slid a condom down his length, the narrow distance between them filled only with the sounds of their breaths as they held them tightly and then released.

Hermione came down on him inch by inch, lips quivering apart, her body feeling hot and cold all at once, all in the same moment.

"Do you have any idea how tight you are?" Malfoy asked, using one hand to brush her hair back, and the other to guide her hips in a steady, rhythmic motion.

She slowly began to move on her own, rocking and rotating as they tugged and kissed and spoke only the fastest, most brazen words to each other. In the back of her mind she had always secretly wondered if he was good in bed — as good as the girls used to say, at least.

 _He is_ , she shouted at herself in her head. _Why in Merlin's name does he have to be good at every — fucking — thing?_

As if to answer her question, Malfoy flipped her over, positioning her leg over his shoulder as he thrust into her from on top. Hermione gasped, tilting her head back in pleasure. Something about the way he moved, suggested to her that he had imagined this before. Merlin knew the thought had crossed her mind before.

Rubbing up against everywhere that felt good, it wasn't long before he had made her come again, this time with his length fully inside her, and this time loudly.

"M-Merlin — I — I'm c-c — !" Hermione choked on the words, twitching everywhere at once in the best possible way, waves of ecstasy filling her body as Malfoy fucked her as hard and deep as she'd always wanted him to.

He soon followed, riding it out with her, their chests pressed together, and their arms and legs all tangled up, interlocked as they clutched onto those final moments, holding on until the very end.

 ** _One Month Later_**

"So, you're telling me — that you — and him —"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"It's been a month now. I know this is a little surprising, but —"

"No, no. Getting a Merlin card with your chocolate frog — _that's_ surprising," Harry interjected.

Hermione frowned, lightly, motioning for Tom to serve them another round of drinks. "It's really not that big of a deal," she asserted, her gaze shifting to the door as Neville entered the pub.

Glancing over at his friends, he quickly made his way towards them, unwrapping his scarf as he settled into their usual booth. "Have you told him?" he blurted out. "Please say you have. I can't keep it in any longer."

Harry bounced a look between them, his face screwing. " _Neville_ knows?"

"Oh, please. I just about orchestrated it," he snorted.

"It's a long story …" Hermione explained, glancing to the door every few seconds.

Neville cleared his throat. "What she means to say is, she posed nude for an art class that Malfoy has just so happened to be part of, creating a brief, intensely awkward flirtation between the both of them which they later resolved on that couch of hers with that massive wine stain it on — you know the one — all whilst I was fast asleep a few rooms down."

Harry's mouth fell agape.

"For Merlin's sake," Hermione groaned.

"What? If you ask me, it's one of the greatest love stories of our time," Neville added, his mouth twitching with laughter.

Before she could so much as utter a word in response, someone else had entered the pub, his pale blond hair snaking its way into her periphery.

"Speaking of …" Neville waved him over. "Malfoy! Over here!"

Harry glanced back, equal parts shock and bewilderment tugging at his facial features as Malfoy wove his way through the tables, meeting them in front of the bar.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized, kissing the top of Hermione's head. "Work went well, I take it?"

She nodded, smiling to him before glancing at Harry. "I'm sure you remember Malfoy."

The Chosen One simply sat there, wordless for a few long moments. "Er — yes," he finally said, hesitantly shaking hands with his former rival. "So, this is real, then? The two of you?"

"Quite real," Hermione said, exchanging a quick, knowing smile with her boyfriend. "When did you say Ginny would arrive?"

"After Quidditch practice," Harry had managed to say, just staring at the two of them as though he still couldn't believe it. "The Holyhead Harpies have made the finals, so she's been practicing nearly every …" His face screwed. "Sorry, I have to ask. You're _actually_ together?"

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, we _actually_ are. What do we have to do to convince you? Have a kiss right here in the middle of the pub?"

Harry shuddered at the thought. "Please, no. I've just had dinner."

The others laughed, and the drinks slowly started coming in after, diffusing some of the awkward tension in the air as the conversation shifted to a different topic. First Quidditch, then music, then the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, the first to last more than a single term, in years.

Ginny eventually joined. Unlike Harry, she had taken the news quite well, tugging Hermione into a separate corner of the pub as the boys had their banter.

"Do you have it? Do you have it? _Please_ tell me you have it," the younger witch blurted.

Cheeks aglow, Hermione opened her bag, retrieving the drawing to show to Ginny. "Here. Don't go waving it around now."

"I won't!" Ginny said to her excitedly, her eyes widening as she had a look. "Merlin's tits, this is really good! Also, hats off to that body. Fucking hell. It's no wonder Malfoy just had to have you right then and there!"

"Ginny!"

"Sorry, sorry," she chuckled, handing it back. "Really, though. I couldn't be happier for you. He's come a long way from the ferret we used to know."

On instinct, Hermione glanced over at him from across the pub. "He really has," she uttered, that familiar rush of emotion lapping her chest as he met her gaze, smiling back at her.

Truthfully she had no idea if it would last, but she was more than ready to find out.

 _ **The End**_


End file.
